“You would tell me?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her until she sighed.
“I would tell you, Targen. I would complain all day. I would yell it from the rafters. I would?—”
I held up a hand and smiled. “Okay, okay.”
She searched my face for a moment, then rose on her toes, pulled me down, and kissed me.
It wasn’t a quick little peck, either. Nah, my shorty kissed me in the middle of the kitchen with bacon popping in the oven and eggs waiting in a bowl, like she didn’t give a damn about that food.
My hands slid around her back. She pulled back, but she stayed close.
“I woke up hungry,” she said.
“For food?”
She smiled, a slow, naughty curve of her lips. “Currently.”
“Currently?” I repeated.
“Don’t get excited. I’m still recovering from your lil attitude.”
“My lil attitude had you screaming my name.”
“And now it has you about to burn my bacon,” she popped.
I reached around her and pushed buttons until the oven went off. She laughed, then nudged me away with her hip. “Targen! Stop! Sit yo’ ass down. You gon’ make me mess up my pancakes.”
“Shorty,” I said, before kissing her like I would never get another one, “I’m tryna butteryourpancakes.”
She side-eyed me. “Does it hurt? Being that corny.”
I shrugged. “Only a little. But, ay, I can help you.”
“You can sit down.”
“You bossy this morning.”
“I’m a Bratva bride now. I gotta be.”
I went still. She noticed immediately and tried to play it off. “Don’t overthink it. I was just joking.”
“No, you weren’t.”
She rolled her eyes. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the counter. “Say it again.”
She kissed her teeth, but her cheeks warmed with a blush. “I’m not doing this with you this morning.”
“Say it again, Theory.”
She pointed the spatula at me again. “You see how controlling you are?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes flew to me, surprised by the admission. I shrugged again. “I’m self-aware.”
